2013.04.06 - Rage Machine
Every city is different. Each one has its own distinct pulse, its own vibe. No two of these are ever the same. New York City is a peculiar amalgamation all of its own, comprised of several of these unique pulses spanning across numerous sections. Brooklyn, Bronx, Gotham, Queens, Metropolis. All connected via high-speed railway, yet they feel as though they're all worlds apart. There's something to this peculiarity that resonates within Zoya. Countless differences, all lumped together into one discombobulated whole. Could this be why America was considered to be the promised land? It's a good thing she hadn't been promised anything thus far. Countless buildings and roadways blur past the windows of the train in question, further tying the boroughs together into a complex knot. She's sitting at one of the windows, completely silent as she vacantly watches the world slide past the other side of the safety glass. Around the car are the usual assortments of annoyances. A man speaking too loudly into his phone. A youth with a handheld game with the volume cranked obnoxiously high. A cluster of teenagers being blatantly jovial. One thing which she has quickly come to learn about this country, personal space is a boundary most frequently denied. Tracking that new -blip- on Cerebros was a puzzle Doug Ramsey, codename: Cypher, was working on in between field sessions with training students. In between checking news (why were there more random sudden flare-ups of mutant manifestations lately? Sunspot activity? SolarMax -had- occured fairly recently, after all..) and other research, Doug had turned up enough to figure a trail of possible appearances. She'd been running, fleeing... but how was he going to track her? The answer came with one of his field students. Laura Kinney, codename X-23, had managed to sniff out that strange new mutant manifestation to the rail system. And there the trail ended. Of -course-. That was where she last flew. Well, yes, thank you X-23. But she'd only insisted on getting on the rail anyway. And then... Now she was off -somewhere-, on another of her oh so silent 'let's not tell anyone' fade-outs, leaving Doug all alone, poking at his handheld Cerebros unit and sighing, seated aboard the rail and idly passing the time watching how people talked to each other, whether verbally or physically. The flirting, the aggressive 'don't come near me' postures, the furtive glances here and there... And then there was that woman who sat stiffly and silently, as if personally offended by all the people crowded. That one was definitely -not- a native. Wonder where she came from...? How does one justify violence? Millions of different situations could potentially cause such an emotional response to ignite, but so few of these reasons could be arguably justified as legitimate reactions. Someone kicking you in the shin. Keying your car. Stealing your money. Typical enough, and more reasonable of excuses. Once in a great while there exists a neural short amongst the synaptic wires. A long flight, little sleep, an unfamiliar new city and country. Ignorant people. Zoya should be used to that much, at least. She's been on the move a lot these days. Lots of time to draw and store energy. Nowhere for any of it to go. Nowhere..until here and now. Stuck inside of this train with so many personal triggers, it's all a matter of which one should do the trick first. The man on his phone. Without a word or a twitch of warning the woman is out of her seat, reaching over the top of the row in front of her, then wrenching the phone out of the surprised man's face. There's just enough time for him to whip his head around, staring in a mix of shock and anger as Zoya takes it within her hands and simply crushes it into small chunks of debris that reek of ozone. The glare within her eyes is not one of forgiveness. Some might argue that violence and language were mutually exclusive, that when people stop talking, they start fighting, and that when they stop fighting, talking begin. But for someone who could -translate- language, violence was yet another bit of datum in that broad language that had -billions- of different dialects, body language. And -that- lady's language was particularly violent. Definitely one of 'give me an excuse, any excuse, and I'll blow.' Which is why Doug Ramsey was up almost at once. In contrast to the harsh, tense body language of Zoya, the blonde mutant's was one that was roughly 'Easy, tiger, easy', hands up, open palm facing the woman. "Um, excuse me? Is there something I can do to help?" he says. The man formerly in possession of the phone is taken aback at the destruction of his device, but it doesn't last for long. "Do you have -any- idea what you've just done?! That was an extremely important call!" As he starts verbally railing on Zoya her attention snaps over to the younger man that dares interrupt her, that rock-hard edge within a pale violet stare that lingers for half of a second before her expression outright changes with the swiftness of a pistol hammer falling upon a primer cap. The smile that she presents is picture-perfect, worthy of the cover of countless magazines. It never reaches her eyes. Nor her words. "Can stay hell out of my way." The man seems even more outraged that he's being ignored. "Hey, are you even listening to--" -Crack!- Zoya strikes the man full-on in the head, though one in your position might notice that it's more than a typical punch. As the man strikes the seatback in front of him then crumples to the floor he does so with a certain sense of finality to it. He won't be getting back up from it. One side of his skull is no longer intact. This is the moment where the other passengers start to realize things are going majorly sideways. Some people yell out. Some scramble out of their seats, trying to escape that particular car. Kak... zmal... gu... cachi... MERDE. DEEP MERDE. There was a quick glance at Cerebros. Was -she- going to show up as a mutant? Why didn't it register? Or did it register and he didn't notice till too late? No, wait, no time to lament the technological flaws. Stepping in front of the man, hoping against hope that the man was still alive and treatable, Doug shifts his body language to mirror that of the woman, adopting a self-defense stance from SHIELD. This language, at least, said 'back away.' Which, to the woman in front of him, might well resemble a cub trying to be as fierce as its mother lion. "Stop. Now." That right there, that's a challenge. Zoya inclines her head as she goes right back to staring at you, perhaps sizing you up. Then again, maybe she's giving you that split second to reconsider your previous course of action. You might..want to try taking a different route there, buddy. She's quick. Not superhuman quick, but quick enough to give a serious athlete a run for the money. One hand pulls a boxy, steel-hued pistol out from beneath her jacket, the gun a momentary blur within her hand as it spins about her index finger then comes up and out, hammer back, safety off, aiming out toward the fleeing passengers. She doesn't bother to look before pulling the trigger. A woman screams out and falls flat in the middle of the walkway, caught low in the pelvis. The accent doesn't appear to be an act, at least. It's thick, heavy. So completely, stereotypically, Russian. "There is bullet in here for you. Want to find which one?" There's an awful lot to read within this woman. Layers upon overlapping layers, a complex matrix comprised of roughly half of the normal spectrum of human emotions. Something you might be able to read within her is that she's holding herself back. Even now there exists that wicked glint, 'just give me a reason.' The governor on her anger is perilously close to its breaking point. ... great. Just great. Something Doug couldn't -quite- comprehend, mentally. He could translate that body language, certainly, but it wasn't something he was -comfortable- doing. Only -half- of the broad range of body language available, and it had to be the -nastier- side of it. "--You talk too much,--" says the linguist in Russian, as he's closing the gap already, stepping in close. What was language, after all? An expression of an idea, of data, to be communicated. And Doug -translated- language. Hand to elbow. Funny bone, make it hurt. Drop gun. Bring hand up to defend inevitable reaction. And pray like hell it doesn't hurt. Zoya doesn't move through this exchange. She doesn't just allow it to happen, -allowing it to happen- doesn't seem to bother her in the slightest. Your hand makes contact, but it feels different. -Wrong.- Like trying to strike a very dense rubber pad. Her arm barely twitches. The gun stays firm. "Maybe are right," she replies as though nothing were amiss. Then the move is countered, the Ruskie darting her open hand toward you. Center body mass. -Anywhere- center body mass. The force that had been behind your attack will be amplified threefold and sent right back to you, what should be enough to throw you away from her and into the seats on the opposite side of the railcar. All it takes is but the tip of a finger upon your body, even trying to block the strike places you right into harm's way. Yes. As multiple sessions pointed out, body language awareness didn't matter worth a lick if you weren't physically capable of -dishing it out- or -taking it-. And Doug goes flying backwards, landing with a sick *thud* against the train seat. Hands go to his chest, as he tries to get his breath -back- into his body. God... did he break -something-? Eyes dart towards the Russian woman, trying to get a read on her. Nothing amiss, nothing bothered. To her, this was just like breathing, wasn't it? A hand goes to his Cerebros unit. A quick glance. Yes, she -was- a mutant. Thanks for the quick update, Cerebros. Now about emergency aid... With her personal space reclaimed Zoya's quick to bring her pistol around, a quick -Blam-Blam!- driving a slug through the skin of the railcar to either side of you. There isn't a lot of aiming involved but it's close enough for a ballpark grouping. When the sights line up to put a third one into you she stops short of pulling the trigger, hesitating for half of a second before she turns and storms down the aisle with another suicidal flick and spin of the bulky pistol around her fingers. She's searching for more targets. The only other person left is the hip-shot woman as she tries to drag herself along the floor to safety. Once more the potential victim is given an instant of thought. Too easy. There's a slight twitch within her already tense expression before she simply loses it, slamming open palms against the rows of seats beside her with enough force to shear the bolts and welds holding them to the floor, driving each into the sides of the car at such an intense speed that it shatters the window and dents the walls of the car. Even that doesn't seem to be enough. She spins around on her heel, spins the 9mm machine pistol around into her palm, then starts emptying the mag at a blistering rate of fire. Maybe Doug gets caught up in it. Maybe the seats stop any bullets from reaching him. It doesn't really matter to her. Oh, damn, he -was- dealing with a pure psycho. Ignoring the crushing pain in his chest, Doug dives for the floor. SHIELD training wasn't going to be enough for a mutant psycho. He needed something more useful. Something like, well... where -was- X-23 when you needed her? As it was, all he could do was stare at Zoya's feet, and then look up at her... Having been in the other car when Doug sent an emergency text, Jocelyn frowns and looks around. Of course, the heat from a gun being fired was different from the amount a human gives off, or the rail car. Right, not that far out from where she was, and the noise helped, too. Jocelyn had taken up some pains to disguise herself tonight. Well, disguise wasn't the right word. She'd decided after her workout that she did want to hit the city up, unlike what she'd told Victor earlier. So, dressed in a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a teal v-neck t-shirt, Jocelyn pushes her way into the car, having charged herself up along the way. Okay, so Doug was on the floor and there was some woman with guns causing problems. The former MMA fighter darts forward and attempts to disarm the woman with a pair of strikes right at the wrists, also attempting to break said wrists in the process. These moves are followed up by her bringing her elbow down towards the woman's left shoulder and attempting to knock her down that way. There weren't any witty lines coming from her now; this was some serious stuff, and she wasn't going to let anymore harm come to people if she could prevent it. Besides, she'd make a great new target for Zoya, at any rate. Oh look, another target's entering the playing field! Of course, by the time Zoya levels the one exposed gun at her it's already empty from having ripped apart the interior of the railcar. No matter, this curiously tall creature is saving her the trouble of closing the gap. Of invading her personal space. The strikes land but don't seem to do anything useful. It's like striking a dense foam mat that's backed by steel plate. Kinda sponge-like, for a very brief instant. Actually landing those hits would show Jocelyn something else that Doug wasn't able to perceive, the 'lost' energy behind those attacks become absorbed into the foreign woman. It shouldn't be much of a surprise then when Zoya suddenly reverses that energy, amplifying it by several magnitudes. One more touch between the two, whether initiated by Zoya or by Jocelyn, and the taller of the two will find herself flying down the length of the car. Around the three the train begins to decelerate, rapidly approaching the Suicide Slums. Oh thank god. For just a moment, that Jocelyn there? Totally best sight Doug Ramsey has seen in forever. Because he -really- didn't need life flashing past his eyes for the -second- time. Once was bad enough. Trying to roll over, and clear the way, Doug considers the situation, before glancing about. Prying a loose piece of metal from the seats Zoya had torn up only a short while ago, wincing as his chest ached... he better -not- have a broken rib... Doug whistles as soon as there's enough time for Jocelyn to react. "Joce!" he exclaims, tossing her the metal. Might help? Jocelyn realizes exactly what is going on with the kinetic energy, and backs up a couple feet, catching the piece of metal in her right hand and twirling it once, keeping in front of Doug. "Interesting," the woman says with a snarl as she slams the piece of metal down against the floor of the car at an angle going towards Zoya. This causes the classic 'wave' effect on the floor, the girl using a significant amount of force to try and knock the woman to the ground with that wave. Seeing that anything involving kinetic energy was a waste of time, Jocelyn pulls in some magnetic energy and attempts to slam a beam of it into Zoya to try and deal with her that way, ready to cut it off if the woman avoids it to avoid blasting a hole in the car. She didn't want to bust out electrical energy and kill the woman, plus there were bystanders if she missed. She just wanted to either make the woman flee or knock her out so she could get medical attention to Doug and anyone else injured. True enough, resorting to brute force is probably not the way to deal with Zoya. With the power being transmitted through the floor she effortlessly absorbs that, as well. No more wave. Still she remains, head bowed forward as she gets ready to unleash another surge of her own, targeting more of those seats to send them flying towards the two mutants. That was the plan, at least. When it comes to magnetic energy, Zoya is affected just like anyone else. The Ruskie goes sailing backward and strikes the back wall, though even that much aids her more than hinders her. The blast she can't do anything about, but the landing serves to feed her further. She's still standing. Glaring. Both of her palms dart out behind her, making contact with the back wall of the train then dumping a massive jolt of energy into the framework. That entire end of the passenger car ruptures like an over-pressurized can, the walls and roof splitting open with a horrific shriek of tortured steel and the acute crash of so many shattering windows. In that instant the pressure within the car drops, cold wind invading the heated interior. It's a startlingly quick turn of events, creating a giant maw within the car that she can easily jump right out of while the train is still in motion. Seems like she's capable of making herself scarce in a hurry, as well. "Merde," mutters Doug as he slumps back against the floor, holding the middle of his chest. "I think she broke a couple ribs," the young blonde mutant wheezes. Looking over towards the dead man, Doug sighs, before glancing over at the wounded, who seems to be tended to. "... Anyway, we'd better talk to the authorities, and then..." Wince. "... on second thought, I want a doctor." "Right. Medical attention," Jocelyn says. That witness was going to likely give out exactly what happened, though it'd be hard to show any proof. Funnily, all the cameras are going to pick up of Jocelyn during this whole time is a single bright white light. Yeah, she'd gotten that trick to work finally. No camera identifying her. "Right. We're getting you to the doctor". And she is going to just scoop Doug up, take him out of the station to an area she won't be seen in, and get him back to Xavier's for medical treatment as quickly as she can, which means a trip on Air Channel at a relatively slow speed and with energy shields up to absorb any possible injuries from the wind pressure. Category:Log